


Things You Said While We Were Driving

by park3rborn



Series: Things You Said (Kylux Short Fics) [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Army, Closeted, Coming Out, Domestic, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Grown Ass Gay Men, Homophobic Language, I'm Sorry, Illinois, It's Thespian Not Lesbian Mom, M/M, Not Beta Read, Retirement, Road Trips, Theatre, retired!Hux, southern illinois is a scary place yall, this is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/park3rborn/pseuds/park3rborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brigadier General Hux is finally out of the Army, and the closet, and heading to Chicago with his thespian husband, Ben.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Said While We Were Driving

“Do you only listen to Johnny Cash, Ben?”

“Fuck off, _General_ , he’s classic.”

“You know what else is classic? Polio. World wars. Not having indoor plumbing. The plague.”

Instead of dealing with his partner like an adult, Ben simply reached over and cranked up the music. Hux rolled his eyes, shifting in the passenger seat of Ben’s slightly-beat-up pickup truck. He had officially retired a couple weeks ago, much to the lament of his staff. In fairness to them, being a brigadier general at the age of 38 was some sort of modern military record, and he was well-liked by most under his command. But he was tired. He was tired of the moving, tired of being disappointed in young enlisted kids who threw their lives away by doing something foolish, and tired of having to call Ben his cousin whenever he attended any function with him.

He left of his own accord. It was mainly the lack of reform with the rules. Severe anti-gay laws were removed only recently, and frankly, he was disgusted that it took so long to do even that. The casual homophobia was getting to him, sticking to him like smoke from a bad cigar sticks to your hair and your skin for a week.  He had discussed leaving with Ben almost bi-monthly in the car prior to his last promotion. But it was over now. In May, he officially processed his paperwork to retire, right after the Big A told him that he had to move to Korea instead of getting another promotion, meaning it would be the last place they moved him before he was told “nicely” that he would have to retire. At first, he was confused. But then he realized it might have been how he had been butting heads with other officers regarding the “gay issue”. He could only take so much, and it all just accumulated, and he probably didn’t make many friends in the end as gay rights issues became headline news.

Moving off post was… different, to say the least. From his promotion from lieutenant colonel to colonel, up to brigadier general, he had been required to live on any military base he was stationed at. Most recently, he was stationed at Fort Hood, living in a big lonely two story house on a repurposed golf course in Texas, just off the military checkpoint to the east. The best part of leaving Fort Hood was being able to finally live with, and legally marry, his fiancé. The worst part of leaving the fort was adjusting to civilians being everywhere. He only counted Ben as maybe 2/3 of a civilian, because Ben most always followed him around to wherever he was stationed, a little piece of home in a new environment. Ben’s family had a military tradition with both his mom and his dad in the Army and Air Force, respectively (although he always sided with his mom on any Army vs Air Force anything). Ben was a lighting and sound thespian who worked in theatre and did set ups for local TV stations, so following his friend/fiancé/cousin, depending on the situation, worked pretty well. Being the only child of a dual service family allowed Ben certain comforts, like being able to attend art school practically for free, and being able to afford fancy apartments conveniently located within about ten miles of Hux anywhere in the world. However, by the time he was 30, he was done having all of the mommy and daddy attention and determined to make it out on his own entirely. While Hux was griping (with perfectly good reason to do so) about work and how the Army wasn’t with the times but expected to stay favorable with America’s youth, Ben was job hunting for a potential permanent gig. Which, he supposed would make it not a gig and more of a job, but regardless, he was hunting for work. His search took him to the off-Broadway scene in Chicago, where very hot musicals were beginning to do auditions for traveling shows. After a couple of Skype conferences, hundreds of emails, and hours of phone calls, he finally was offered two permanent positions in downtown Chicago, starting in August, which happened to correspond with Hux’s retirement almost perfectly.

Newly-wed with the blessings of Ben’s parents, retired BG Hux and it’s-thespian-not-lesbian Ben packed all their collective shit, rented a big U-Haul, and began their three day road trip to Chicago. Leaving Texas itself took a day, and as Leia, Ben’s mom, liked to put it, it took at least eight hours to leave Texas from any point in the state.

Today was the start of their last day, and after staying in southern Illinois for the night, they were ready to get to Chicago. Luckily, they booked their room ahead of time, with a sense of anonymity, but at check-in, it was a different story. The hotel itself looked like kind of a dive, one of those one-story hotels with sketchy yellow lights and mystery stains in the carpets. The inside was surprisingly clean, and not surprisingly religious. Immediately upon entering through the automatic door, Hux noticed the giant wooden cross suspended behind the counter on the wall. Nobody besides that was behind the counter, so he tapped the metal bell that said “ring for service” in fancy script on a Post-It Note, summoning an old white lady. The old lady was approachable, very Midwestern, and verged on restraining-order enthusiastic after she recognized Hux’s name in the system and his face. Hux thanked her after she handed him the key and cheerfully told him to enjoy his stay and thanked him about seven times for his service. Then, as Hux moved towards room 109, located to the right of the desk, Ben wandered in from the truck with a bag holding a change of clothes and toothbrushes for the both of them.

“Everything all set?” he asked, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, automatically threading his fingers between Hux’s unoccupied hand at his side. Hux didn’t have time to protest when he heard a sharp gasp from his left. As if in slow motion, Hux witnessed the lady’s demeanor almost instantaneous change from Friendly Knitting Grandma to Bible-Banging Barbara. Her eyes looked like lightning could shoot out of them as she glared at the sudden gay that had infiltrated her workplace. It made Hux’s skin crawl, and he hurried his rather oblivious husband to their room.

“Goddamned fags,” he heard from down the hall before slamming the door shut.

After skipping breakfast at the hotel and scarfing down some rather gross McDonalds breakfast twenty miles down the road, Hux was just trying to push last night out of his mind and focus on the newness that would be living in Chicago with his husband. Ben chattered on about how excited he was about being able to actually pick his job for once instead of taking whatever was offered, and talked some more about how off-Broadway was somehow different than other musicals. Hux did try to listen, he really did, but he didn’t sleep well at the scary hotel, and instead was busy being mesmerized by the rows and rows of corn and soybeans.

Ben noticed, naturally, that Hux had stopped listening about five minutes into the drive, so he turned on his dad’s personal favorite artist, Johnny Cash, slowly raising the volume to see if Hux would notice. Hux hated Johnny Cash. And he did notice, but only after about forty minutes. Normally he would yell for Ben to shut it off after two notes. Something was off. Ben started putting it all together.

Shutting off Mr. Cash in the middle of _Ring of Fire_ , Ben glanced over at Hux. He was growing out his high and tight, his red-with-white hair floofing at the front. He stayed clean-shaven, though, probably because he hated the feeling of beard. He was tense in his seat.

“What’s going on in there, General?” he asked, eyes returning to the straight, flatness of the road.

“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“You’re irritated. Your back hasn’t touched a seat back since yesterday.”

“Would it throw you off my case if I said I was working on my posture?”

“Bullshit,” Ben chuckled, “Seriously, talk to me. We’re married. We’re supposed to talk about shit. It’s part of being married and living with somebody.”

Hux sighed, but said nothing.

“Was it the old lady? To be honest, Hux, she reminded me of your mother. Kind of like a wrinkly, homophobic harpy. Do you think she’s burning the hotel right now to prevent the deadly homosexuality from spreading across southern Illinois?”

That made Hux laugh.

“C’mon, baby. You’re out now—,”

“Of the closet or the Army?”

“Both,” Ben reached over and patted his anxious husband’s left knee. “You’re out and there’s no going back. Besides, I heard there were some high-end gay bars near our apartment. Maybe we can make some new friends, right?”

There was a second or two of quiet between them, the rumble of the bumpy road diminishing beneath them as Ben merged onto the highway. Hux broke the silence.

“Don’t go divorcing me for some young kid, Benjamin, or so help me God, I will tell the president of the United States _personally_ to deport you to Greenland with your boy toy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right. That’s too much work. I’d conveniently lose you in a corn field instead,” Hux smirked as he relaxed into the cloth seat.

“I wouldn’t trade you for any man in this universe,” Ben said, looking over mischievously, “Even if it was Ewan McGregor, serenading me right outside our door in nothing but a long trench coat and--”

“Okay, that’s enough, focus on the road. We need to get to Chicago, first; can’t have you getting a boner and killing us. In fact, how about I drive?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was the worst. it was me projecting. ah well. if you liked it, thank you. if you didn't, same.


End file.
